


An Oath To Light The Darkness

by asea_aranion



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Continuation, Canon Era, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Honor Kinks, Honorable Idiots, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Post-Canon, Technically I Do Kill A Side Character, The Long Night, You Probably Won't Miss Them But Consider This Fair Warning, seriously so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21907588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asea_aranion/pseuds/asea_aranion
Summary: Brienne drew her sword and knelt at the front of the hall. “It was Ser Jaime who gifted me this sword, and named it Oathkeeper. It was forged from the steel of Lord Eddard Stark’s greatsword. I return it now to its home, and pledge it to protect the Stark family against the threat beyond the Wall.”Truly these blades had been meant for this battle, they had been destined to return home to defend these walls.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 25
Kudos: 49
Collections: Oathkeepers Secret Santa 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bidonica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bidonica/gifts).



Jaime could see the smoke rising from King's Landing far behind him in the distance. For a moment, it felt as though it was stinging his eyes and catching in his throat, but that was impossible; he had already ridden too many miles from the city. He hadn’t wanted to watch it burn. Even now, Jaime wouldn’t have stopped except to feed and water his horse. Wary of being recognized, he had refused the innkeeper's offer of a seat by the fire and warm stew in favor of some salted meat that he ate in silence, leaning against the door of the stables. The last thing he needed was for smallfolk to start whispering that the Kingslayer had abandoned his King. 

In truth, Jaime had returned to King's Landing because of his oath to his King.  _ Because of my oath to my son,  _ Jaime thought. 

During the weeks they spent on the Quiet Isle while Brienne recovered from the wounds inflicted by Lady Stoneheart and her bandits, a number of messengers and refugees had passed through carrying news from the far reaches of the realm. One was a septon who had come from King's Landing, warning of the doom soon to befall the city. The Queen Regent was at war with the Faith Militant, and a boy claiming to be Aegon Targaryen was marching from Storm's End with the Golden Company to lay claim to the divided city. Another was a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, clad all in black and bearing even darker news that Jaime would not have believed had he not seen for himself the fear in the young man's eyes. The realm was in turmoil, and it grew worse by the day.

_ No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other,  _ he thought bitterly. Though Jaime had previously agreed to accompany Brienne to find Sansa Stark, when he had heard the septon's news of King's Landing, he had realized he could not do it. Jaime was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and somehow that vow meant something to him in a way it hadn't for years. He had wanted to do right by his King, and by his son. He had wanted to get Tommen to safety, surrounded by the support of wise advisors and a worthy Kingsguard, instead of enemies and false friends. He had wanted to save him.  _ From Cersei. From Aegon. From all the horrors about to befall King's Landing, and from the greater threat marching from beyond the Wall. And I failed.  _

Jaime had disguised himself and snuck into the Red Keep in the dead of night in search of Tommen, in the hopes that he could get him out of the city before it was besieged. Although he was familiar with the secret passages and least traveled hallways of the castle, he was still unsettled by how easy it had been for him to find his way inside. It wasn't until he reached the royal chambers that he realized why no one had stopped or questioned him - Tommen wasn’t there, and neither was Cersei. Even Kevan was nowhere to be found; the Red Keep was eerily empty, and Jaime had felt utterly lost.

When he had left the Quiet Isle for King's Landing, Jaime had felt sure of what he must do, it was his duty to protect his King. Arriving only to find that his King had fled, he no longer knew what the right answer was. He could not know where Cersei had taken Tommen, or how he could find them. 

_ I was a fool to think this would be so easy,  _ he'd thought. He had sat in the Red Keep for what seemed like hours running his fingers through his tangled curls before something caught his eye. A sliver of moonlight shone in through the window, glinting off several sets of eyes. There on the wall was Widow's Wail, in its sheath adorned with golden lions' heads. As Jaime's eyes fell on the sword, the moonlight on the rubies set in the lions' faces made them seem more blue than red, he thought. 

As he lifted the sword from the wall, he had wondered where its twin was now. When Jaime had turned south towards King's Landing, Brienne had turned north towards the Bloody Gate. Word of Sansa Stark's upcoming marriage to Harrold Hardyng had also reached them on the Quiet Isle, and of Petyr Baelish's curious ascension to Lord Protector of the Vale, standing in for the young Lord Arryn who was in failing health. Jaime misliked Littlefinger, and could not fault Brienne her concerns for Sansa's safety, and desire to see her among more trusted allies. He understood that she was bound by her oath, as he was by his.

_ If I cannot keep my oath to my king,  _ Jaime had decided,  _ I must keep my oath as a knight; I must keep my oath to Lady Catelyn. I must protect the Stark girls, I must protect the innocents of the realm where I can. _ Concealing the sword beneath his cloak, Jaime had made his way back through the eerie quiet of the Red Keep, and out of the city.

He had only been two days gone from the city when he had smelled it burning as it was sacked. The stench had struck him like a blow. After everything he had sacrificed to stop Aerys from burning the city - his reputation, his honor, his good name - it would be razed to the ground anyway, and all the people he had given so much to save would be killed.

His horse snorted softly, having eaten his fill, stirring Jaime from his memories. As he set about replacing the horse’s bridle, he spared one final glance at the growing column of smoke. Turning away from the ruined city, his thoughts returned to Brienne. She had been disappointed when he'd told her of his intentions to go to King's Landing, though she had tried not to let him see as much. He still remembered the way her bright blue eyes had struggled to meet his. It had been snowing lightly, and a few flakes had caught on her eyelashes. 

His hand went briefly to the hilt of his sword. He had wrapped the sheath in linen rags, an attempt to hide the garish decorations and avoid any unwanted attention, but the hilt still glinted gold under his palm.

If she was successful in her efforts, Brienne would be riding for Winterfell with Sansa.  _ And perhaps even if she was not successful,  _ Jaime thought,  _ Stannis is at Winterfell, and she means to make him answer for Renly's death. She will ride for Winterfell, surely. _

With that, Jaime mounted his horse, and headed towards the road north. The sun was setting, and in the gathering dark, the skies above King's Landing began to take on a sickly green hue.

Jaime did not look back.


	2. Chapter 2

Brienne knew that she should feel more relieved to finally be so close to finding Sansa, but she was somehow still uneasy. She could hear Jaime’s words echoing in her head. "Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor," he had said. While she knew this was not true, she also knew how strongly Jaime believed it, and for that reason she could not fail him now. 

Before she had Departed the Quiet Isle, Jaime had warned her about Littlefinger, that he was a cunning and ambitious man, slimy and not to be trusted. He didn’t know how Littlefinger had weaseled his way into such a position of power in the Vale, or what he stood to gain by using Sansa, but he could surmise it wasn’t anything good. For as much as Jaime seemed to dislike Littlefinger, it was clear that someone else who had been present liked him even less. Sandor Clegane had sat at the table with them, glowering as Jaime recounted the news from the Vale. Jaime had recognized his nephew's former sworn sword despite his efforts to blend in as a novice on the Quiet Isle, and something about the Stark girl's plight had driven him to join Brienne in her search. Brienne was hardly thrilled by this, having already been forced to tolerate Hyle's company, but Jaime had insisted. 

"Sansa does not know you," he had said, "or Pod, or Hyle, for that matter. Why would she trust you? How would you get her to come with you? At least she would recognize Sandor." 

"How do we know that's a good thing?" Brienne had argued. "Instead of mistrusting us, she would fear us to be a party of Lannisters come to arrest her for treason."

"Well you do have the hair," Jaime smirked.

"That's not funny," Brienne sighed. "She will never come with us if she thinks we are going to turn her over to the Queen, worse yet she might flee."

At that, Sandor finally spoke. "She knows I don't serve the Lannisters, or the Queen. She will come." 

And that had been that. 

They had been joined by a few surviving remnants of the Brotherhood Without Banners. Brienne had not much liked that either. Though Thoros of Myr had not agreed with the way Lady Stoneheart had dispensed justice, it seemed to Brienne he would have stood by and watched her die, and she had not felt overly trusting of him since then. Harwin was no better, but she had not been able to argue against the presence of a Northman from Ned Stark's household guard, another familiar face they hoped Sansa would recognize. 

Their group was completed by a black brother of the Night's Watch, the one who had brought news from the Wall. He, along with several of his brothers, had been charged by the Lord Commander to spread the word to the Lords of Westeros that the Wall had fallen, and a vast army of the dead was marching south from beyond it. The Lord Commander begged that the Lords of the realm send men north to defend against the army of the dead, lest its size double as it marched through the north unchallenged. The black brother insisted men would have to come, that if the army of the dead were to claim the lives of all the northern houses, their numbers would grow too great for any to stand against them. 

As oft as not, though, his words fell on deaf ears. Some accused him of lying, of trying to steal away fighting men in a time of war. Some laughed in his face. Some, at least, had sent men north to Winterfell. Small numbers, as a token gesture of good faith, or simply the contents of their dungeons, in either case hoping for fewer mouths to feed as winter fell upon them. Few seemed to truly grasp the dire reality of their situation. 

Brienne could hardly blame them. She would not have believed there could be such a thing as an army of dead men either, had she not seen Lady Catelyn Stark returned from her grave with her own eyes. It sounded like something out of a bedtime story told to frighten children. But the black brother had seen things even more frightening than Lady Stoneheart, and he spoke of them with such fear in his eyes that Brienne hoped those who truly listened would find it hard to deny the truth of his words. Up north, the battle was already beginning, and the men who had glimpsed the army of the dead knew it.

Stannis, for his part, had tried to aid in the efforts, though it did little to improve Brienne’s opinion of him. He too sent out riders, calling the honorable lords of the realm to fulfill their duty to protect it. Brienne knew better than to hang her hopes on the honor of the Lords of Westeros. There had been a time where she might have believed them sworn to obey, but she knew better now. She could only hope they might find the battle at Winterfell a more enticing offer than the siege at King's Landing. 

So the company rode on in silence for the most part. Sandor rarely spoke and Hyle had lost much of his humor since their time with Lady Stoneheart, and was ill at ease with the newcomers to their party. The snows grew heavier as the days wore on, until they finally stumbled upon a large stone keep. 

"Who would pass the Bloody Gate?" a voice called out to them from the battlements. 

"Brienne of Tarth, sworn to Lady Catelyn Stark, here to deliver a message to Lady Sansa on behalf of her brothers." Brienne was vaguely aware of how absurd she sounded. 

"Lady Catelyn is dead," the voice called back, "And so is the Young Wolf."

"On behalf of her brothers Bran Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," Brienne countered. She realized how foolish she had been to think this would be a straightforward journey; there was little reason for anyone to take her at her word. The realm had been battered by war for years now, and most of the players were no longer playing fair. Deception was to be expected. But after a time, the gate creaked, and a small party of men emerged to speak to her and her companions. 

Brienne realized she was grateful for the black brother of the Night's Watch, as he was the only member of their party who carried anything that verified their claims. He had been sent south with scrolls sealed by his Lord Commander to be delivered to each lord and bannerman, and a decree from the Lord of Winterfell as well. It was enough to gain them access to the keep, and they were permitted through. 

Their group was presented with bread and salt, a show of respect for guest right, and a few cups of ale, while the men in the gatehouse explained that Lady Sansa was at the Gates of the Moon, as the winter snows had begun and the Eyrie would soon be uninhabitable. A messenger was sent with word of their arrival, and they were promised that they would be escorted on in the morning.

It was bright and early the following morning when their escort arrived, and Brienne was glad of it. The Mountains of the Moon could be treacherous in the best conditions, and she did not wish to wait for the snow to worsen; she simply wanted to recover Sansa, and leave, though she spent the better part of the ride wondering how that might be accomplished. She was left still wondering when they reached the Gates of the Moon.

Inside, to their surprise, they found the Vale bustling with activity; most of the region's nobles had come to attend the wedding of the newly revealed Sansa Stark, or so they said. In truth, the Lord's Declarant were likely as eager as Brienne to figure out the truth of Littlefinger's schemes, and what he hoped to gain through marrying her off.

Seeing just how many people were present threw Brienne, who realized she should have come up with a better plan than the hope that Sansa would take her at her word and want to be returned to her brothers.  _ What a fool I am to gamble Jaime's honor on one girl's faith in my word,  _ she thought angrily.  _ I cannot fail him. _ She waited in the crowded hall as their escort went to fetch Sansa.

While she waited, she spotted Littlefinger speaking to a handsome young man with sandy blonde hair. He was a small man, and Brienne may have underestimated him without Jaime's warnings. She was still watching him when Sansa was brought before her. 

Sansa Stark was every bit Lady Catelyn's daughter, so much so that it made Brienne's heart ache. She donned a heavy cloak over her shoulders in the colors of her house, her auburn hair braided and pulled over one shoulder in a style her mother had worn. Her eyes, though soft and kind, were clearly wary of the travelers. 

"My lady," Brienne knelt before her. "I swore an oath to your lady mother that I would find you and return you safely to Winterfell. Your brothers Bran and Jon summon you home, that they might protect you and keep you safe in this dangerous hour." 

Sansa did not speak at first. She looked past Brienne, staring curiously at the party behind her. A flash of recognition in her eyes made Brienne think that she had spotted Harwin. 

"Lady Sansa," Brienne began again. "The realm is in more peril than you know. It is said that King's Landing will fall, and a great terror comes from the north. You stand to be trapped between them."

Several of the lords had gathered around the group now, listening. Among them were Lords Yohn and Nestor Royce, Ser Lyn Corbray, and Littlefinger himself. Brienne rose to address them as well.

"My Lords, you are not safe here, you should come with us as well," she implored them. "The Wall has fallen, and a great host marches south from beyond." 

"A host of wildlings? How terrifying!" Lord Baelish japed, "Or is it grumkins and snarks we have to fear?"

Sansa stepped past Brienne and the Lords making her way towards the hulking shape of Sandor Clegane. To Brienne's great surprise, she noticed Sandor crouch to be closer to Sansa's height as they softly exchanged words, though Brienne was too far from them to make out what was said.

"Whatever army, it makes no matter. The Bloody Gate was aptly named," Lord Nestor Royce said. "Armies of thousands have battered themselves against it to no avail. Why should we fear this one?"

"This army is different," the black brother said, shaking his head sadly. "Its soldiers are not of this world. They will pound themselves against your bloody gate and then they will keep coming, climbing over each other in their desperation, you do not understand. With each man that is killed their numbers grow."

The murmurs of the crowd swelled, arguing over the truth of his words.

"This is madness!" a voice called.

"It is as he says," another voice replied, over the din. Across the hall, two men bearing the sigil of Stannis Baratheon stood. "We have seen it with our own eyes," the second man said. "This is the news we brought when we arrived, and you did not wish to listen, but now you see it is confirmed. You must believe us." 

With that, the room erupted in shouts from all sides, some insisting the whole thing was nothing but tall tales and deceptions, others insisting that there were now three sources confirming the truth of it. Brienne turned to Sansa, pleading with her eyes. Sansa looked around the hall, seeming to pause and consider each face in turn. She knew these people far better than Brienne did, perhaps she would know what to say to convince them. 

"Lady Brienne, could you come with me for a moment?" Sansa asked, appearing at Brienne's side. 

Brienne nodded, and followed her out of the hall. They were alone in the hallways of the keep when Sansa spoke again. "Tell me quickly and truly, Lady Brienne, what is the truth of all this? I have one hand I may yet play, but I must know what the truth is before I do. Have my brothers sent for me? Is the army the men speak of real?" She continued briskly down the hallway as she spoke. 

"Your brothers did not send me," Brienne began, "but the threat they warn of is real. I swore to your mother that I would deliver the hostage Jaime Lannister to King's Landing and exchange him for you and your sister Arya, but I arrived after King Joffrey's wedding, and you had already fled. Afterwards I searched the Riverlands for you to no avail, until word reached me of your marriage. At the same time, the black brother who has accompanied us here brought word from Winterfell that the Wall had fallen. Your brother is now Lord of Winterfell, and together with the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and Lord Stannis Baratheon, has summoned all abled bodied men of the realm to Winterfell to stand against the army of the dead." 

Sansa came to a door, and quickly unlocked it and stepped inside, motioning for Brienne to follow. She shut the door and locked it behind her. 

"Why Winterfell?" Sansa asked. "Why not retreat South?" She opened a chest at the foot of the bed and removed a small box from inside. 

"It is too dangerous to retreat," Brienne said, shaking her head. "The dead need neither food nor rest, and each man we lose replenishes their ranks. Worse still, King’s Landing is under siege by a great host marched up from the south; there would be no safe place to retreat to. Our only hope is to rally as many men as possible to stand against the dead and hold the North."

"You are aware, I'm sure, that this sounds like a child's nightmare or bedtime story," Sansa said as she rifled through the box. It contained brooches and necklaces, and several keys, none of which Sansa was after. "You say you had been searching the Riverlands for me, how have you seen this dead army?" 

"I have not," Brienne admitted.

"Then how are you so sure it is real?"

"I have seen… other things." Brienne was hesitant to burden Sansa with the truth of Lady Stoneheart, there was no telling what other hardships the poor girl had been through, she did not need that knowledge. "I have not seen the army in the north, but I have seen the dead walk. I might not have believed otherwise." 

"Sandor says he believes them as well. He too has seen the dead risen again. He advised me to go."

Brienne was taken aback by this. "And you trust him?"

Sansa stopped fussing with her box for a moment to look at Brienne. "Sandor has always told me the truth, especially when the truth was ugly," she said. "He tried to take me with him when he abandoned King's Landing during the Battle of the Blackwater. I have wondered how things might have been different had I gone with him then." 

Sansa removed a false bottom from the box, and Brienne glimpsed something delicate and silver in her hand as she pulled it from the box and stuffed it quickly in her pocket. 

"Lady Brienne, when we return to the hall, gather your men. I have something to say to the Lords. If they believe me, it is my hope that they will accompany us North, but if they do not, we must leave at once." 

Brienne nodded, and followed her out of the room.  _ We've nearly done it, Jaime. I will not fail you after all. _ When they returned to the hall, the arguments continued and it seemed their absence had hardly been noted. Brienne sent Pod and Harwin out to prepare the horses, and gathered the rest of their party, warning them that they should prepare to leave, perhaps forcefully, before finally turning to Sandor. "What did you tell her?" she asked him.

"The truth," Sandor shrugged. He looked past Brienne to the middle of the hall. "What is she doing?"

Sansa was standing atop a chair, tapping a spoon against a cup of wine. "My Lords!" she called "My Lords please." The room quieted, and all eyes were on her. She took a sip of wine from the cup before she spoke again. "My Lords, it was so kind of you all to come for my wedding, and it has been such a pleasure to host you all. You know now who I am, and that it was Lord Baelish who spirited me away from King's Landing, here to the house of my dear aunt and cousin, at great peril to himself." 

Littlefinger took a few steps towards Sansa, a look of confusion on his face. Sandor Clegane followed closely behind him, keeping a watchful eye.

"He also gave me this lovely gift," Sansa said, reaching into her pocket. She held aloft a delicate silver hairnet with deep purple gems set where the strands of silver crossed. Brienne's gaze shifted from Sansa to Littlefinger, who suddenly seemed to have lost all color from his face. 

"I've never seen that before," Littlefinger protested, but Sansa paid him no mind.

"It's beautiful, is it not? I was told the stones are amethysts from Asshai. I was also told that I must wear it to the King's wedding feast. It's such a pity though, that it's so delicate, I have only worn it on the one occasion, and one of the stones is now missing, just there you see..." 

She shifted the wine cup in her hand in an attempt to point out the missing stone, but her hands faltered, and the hairnet slipped, landing half submerged in the cup of wine. 

"Oh, how clumsy of me," she quipped, but if Brienne did not know better, she would have sworn that it had been no accident. Sansa waited a moment before gingerly picking up one of the strands that was still dry, and holding up the hairnet once more. It was now plain to those lords standing nearest to her that several more stones had disappeared from the hairnet, though they had clearly been there moments before.

"Tell me, Lord Baelish, what kind of amethysts dissolve in a mere cup of wine?" Sansa asked innocently.

"The girl is mad," Littlefinger shouted. "I have never seen this thing before and I know nothing of her tricks." 

"Why then, Lord Baelish, may I offer you a sip of wine?" 

Littlefinger lunged at Sansa, but he was not quick enough; in the blink of an eye, Sandor was on him, pinning his arms down at his sides. The crowd began to murmur once more.

"You insult me," Sansa said, sounding hurt. "If you know nothing of these mysterious stones, why do you fear to share my cup? You and your fellow Lords clearly saw that I took a sip myself just before I spoke." Sansa thrust the wine cup in Littlefinger's face, and he recoiled as much as Sandor's grip would allow. 

"Is it truly so poor a vintage as to be beneath you?" Sansa asked. "Else why would you not take a sip?" 

"Get this mad dog off of me!" Littlefinger snarled.

Lord Yohn Royce was standing with the Lords Declarant, watching these events with much interest. After exchanging words with his men, he cleared his throat. "Lord Baelish, if you know nothing of the hairnet as you say, why do you fear the wine? Forgive me, but I can think of no reason."

"I do not fear it," Littlefinger spat. "I simply will not tolerate such disrespect. I am Lord Protector and I've had enough of these japes." 

"Lord Baelish is right," Ser Lyn Corbray said. "Put an end to this."

"Begging your pardon," Lord Templeton interjected. "But surely there would be proof that this is all simply a jape if Lord Baelish would take a sip of wine."

The lords began to raise their voices, and prod each other's chests while Littlefinger struggled in vain against Sandor's grasp. Brienne's eyes were fixed back on Sansa, who took a deep breath. 

"He will not take a sip because he knows the cup is poisoned," Sansa declared. "It's the same poison that was used to kill King Joffrey at his wedding feast. The missing stone was taken by his co-conspirators during the feast and used to kill the king, Lord Baelish told me himself when he stole me away from King's Landing afterwards."

"LIES!" Littlefinger snarled over the crowd.

"He used me because I was a stupid girl who would not question the gift. And this was not Lord Baelish's only crime." Sansa stood poised on her chair, ignoring Littlefinger's shouts. "His poison also found the cup of your lord, Jon Arryn. He told my aunt Lysa that he loved her, and that they could be together if only she poisoned Lord Arryn, and blamed the Lannisters for it."

Shouts were going up around the hall. "You have no proof of any of this!" Littlefinger shouted. "Surely, my Lords, you won't take the mad lies of this girl over my own word."

"It's because of him that my family found themselves at odds with the crown, because of him that so many of them have died. But he didn't love my aunt Lysa, he only wanted her seat in the Vale. Once he had it, he threw her from the Moon Door, and framed a poor minstrel." Sansa looked as though she was near tears now. "And I went along with it, because I did not know what else to do. I had no one left. I feared if I did not obey, he would lay the blame at my feet instead."

She gestured briefly to the Lords Declarant. "Ser Lyn Corbray was in his employ, spying on you. That's why he leapt to Lord Baelish's defense when I offered the wine."

The Lords rounded on Ser Lyn, and the ring of steel being pulled from sheath echoed in the hall as tempers boiled over. Brienne was at Sansa's side at once. "My lady, we should take our leave."

"A moment yet," Sansa said. "Many of the Lords in this hall were already suspicious of Littlefinger, I believe we can make allies of them."

Brienne nodded, her hand on Oathkeeper's hilt. 

"It is Lord Baelish, not any of the northern messengers who brings us tall tales and deceptions." Sansa called out over the rising tension in the room. "He has manipulated you, just as he manipulated me, but no longer. My Lords, I beg that you arrest Lord Baelish, and accompany me to Winterfell."


	3. Chapter 3

Jaime had stopped to rest barely a week out from Winterfell, his hurried pace and the worsening weather finally taking its toll. Even if Jaime had not been so stubborn as to once again refuse to risk an inn, he would have been hard pressed to find one. He was forced to settle for making camp in the shelter of a burned out building just out of sight of the road. It provided little warmth, but the ground was dry and free from snow at least, and with the remains of a few fallen beams he was able to make a meager fire. 

As he drew his cloak over himself, he felt uneasy, as though there were eyes upon him. He was not wholly alone in the woods, he knew; as he had journeyed farther north, he had noticed creatures lurking when he stopped to make camp. Deer, he had seen, and once or twice he had glimpsed a wolf as well, but nothing came near his small campfires and so he paid them little mind. 

Still, he could not shake the feeling and it left him unsettled. 

"You're traveling north," said a voice out of the darkness. 

Jaime lunged for his sword, drawing it quickly from its sheath. "Who goes there?"

A child stepped out from behind a tree just beyond the doorway of Jaime's shelter, venturing towards the light of the fire. His hair was brown and cropped very short, with grey eyes set in a long face covered in smudges of dirt. He looked to be no more than twelve, but there was a strange wildness about him.

"What are you doing out here all alone?" Jaime asked.

"I'm not alone," the boy said. 

Jaime peered about, sword in hand, waiting to be set upon by bandits and robbed for what few possessions he had left.  _ They've chosen the wrong man for that. _

But there was only silence. 

"What is it that you want, lad?" Jaime ventured, still on his guard. 

"News. The villages are all empty or burned, and the inns deserted, mostly. I have been away… much has changed since I came here last. Where do you come from?" the boy asked. "What news do you have?"

Jaime began to lower his sword. The boy moved closer, and Jaime spotted a glint of metal at his hip; the boy had a blade of his own it would seem, though he did not draw it, he simply crouched and sat on a pile of stones by the fire. He seemed altogether unimpressed by Jaime, and certainly not afraid of him, which unsettled Jaime somewhat. He was used to being feared. 

The boy warmed his hands by the fire and looked up at Jaime expectantly. 

"I came from the South," Jaime said. "I saw the smoke rising from King's Landing as it was besieged, though I was well away by then. A boy named Aegon marched with his army of sellswords to take the city. I expect by now he has succeeded."

"Has he killed the Queen?" the boy asked.

"I don’t know," Jaime answered honestly. 

The boy nodded. "Where are you headed now?"

Jaime paused, unsure how to answer; he was still not fully at ease with the child, even if he couldn’t put his finger on why. The boy gave no indication that he knew who Jaime was, and even if he had, Jaime couldn’t fathom what could be gained by turning him in, or who he might even turn him in to. He chose to tell the truth. "Winterfell."

"Who is the Lord of Winterfell these days?"

"Brandon Stark, I hear." Jaime did wonder what sort of mess he would be walking into when he got to Winterfell. He had no way of knowing if Bran remembered anything of the last time they met, and he knew he would get no warm welcome from Stannis either. "I also hear that Stannis Baratheon's army is in Winterfell, along with all that is left of the Night's Watch. Which I hear isn't much."

The boy nodded again. "The dead are coming. I've seen it in my dreams. Already they wander the woods south of the Wall."

Jaime squinted across the fire at the boy. "Who are you?" 

"No one."

Silence passed between them for a few minutes, the only sound the crackling of the fire. A wolf howled off in the distance, and after a moment several more answered. The boy smiled at that. 

"You can travel with me if you like." Jaime offered, though he did not entirely know why. "Winterfell is the last manned stronghold in these parts, you'll be safe there. It's dangerous to be out here on your own."

"I already told you, I'm not on my own." 

Jaime wondered if this was some sort of trick, or jape at his expense, but he could make no sense of it. 

"Suit yourself, my offer stands."

With that, he lay back down and pulled his cloak over his shoulders, though now he found himself quite unable to sleep. His thoughts went instead to Brienne. For most of his journey he had been unable to banish her from his thoughts. 

When Brienne had found him at Pennytree, she'd looked as though she'd been through hell, her face bandaged, her arm braced and broken, and terrible bruises about her neck as though she had been strangled. Jaime had felt terrible knowing that whatever had happened to her had happened while on a quest he had charged her with. He felt guilty even now, for fear of what other troubles she may have walked into.  _ All because the stubborn wench believes in honor.  _

And yet, for as much as he mocked her noble pursuits, it was that stubborn belief in doing the honorable thing that so endeared her to him. He deeply admired her perseverance, so much so that he had forgiven her the lie she told when she claimed to have found Sansa. He understood why she did it, and he saw how badly Lady Stoneheart had rattled her. For a few moments, though, he had truly believed they would die in that cave. 

Brienne had lay abed for days afterwards, burning with fever from her infected wounds. She slept more often than not, but fitfully, often crying out in her sleep. 

This had not surprised Jaime; he had seen men in the throes of illness and injury many times, and many of them cried out from their fever dreams. What had surprised him was that she cried out his own name. 

"Jaime," she'd called, "Jaime, no, please!"

He'd rushed to her bedside and taken her hand. "I'm here," he'd whispered softly, "Brienne, I'm here, you're safe." 

And somehow, that had seemed to soothe her, and she’d settled into a more peaceful rest. From that moment, he scarcely left her bedside, except when forced to by the brothers of the Quiet Isle. Some nonsense about unmarried men and women not sleeping under the same roof.  _ As if I will truly be able to sleep until she wakes. _ At first Jaime had tried to fight them, but in the end he resigned himself to spending days at her side, and nights dozing outside her door wrapped in furs. He laid damp cloths on her forehead to keep her cool, and held her hand when she cried out in fear. 

When her fever finally broke and she woke with her wits fully about her, Jaime's heart had felt light, as though a huge weight had been lifted. She had sat up in bed, with some of the light back in her astonishing blue eyes, and a hint of confusion as well. Her voice was hoarse when she tried to speak, but still, she had taken his hand in hers.

"I dreamed of you."

Across the fire, the boy had piled some rags beneath his head, curled himself up small, and fallen very much asleep. In the glow of the firelight, the boy's face looked softer, and somehow younger than it had before. Jaime relaxed slightly, suddenly thinking himself silly for being so unnerved by a child; the lands were full of orphan children in the wake of the warring kings and bands of outlaws. He looked at the boy's clothing and realized most of it must have been borrowed; none of the pieces matched, and most of them fit poorly. He wondered how long the child had been on his own. He wondered whose company his own son had to keep him safe and warm at night. Eventually, his eyelids grew heavy and he could wonder no more as he drifted off to sleep. 

When he woke, the boy was gone. Jaime set out again, and by midday he had convinced himself that he had dreamed the whole thing, that being on his own was beginning to drive him mad. But when he stopped that night in an abandoned barn, he had only just finished making a fire when the boy strode up, carrying two rabbits slung over his shoulder. He handed one to Jaime, and sat down with the other, making quick work of skinning it. 

They traded more news over their dinner of rabbit. Jaime told the boy of the siege of Riverrun, and the boy told Jaime of his time traveling the Riverlands. It seemed the boy had companions at some point, though Jaime saw no sign of them now, nor any horse or pony that had carried him this far.

"How did you keep up?" Jaime finally asked.

"I told you I wasn't alone," the boy answered. 

And so they continued for the few remaining days to Winterfell, falling into a strange routine. The boy disappeared during the day, and returned at night bringing some freshly caught animal. They would eat together, and speak of the things they had seen, and the things they hoped yet to see. Jaime told him of a tall blonde woman with beautiful blue eyes. The boy spoke of a brother with the same dark hair and light eyes as he. They forged a strange camaraderie as they traveled towards what felt like the end of the world. 

They were two days' ride from Winterfell's gates when they were awakened by Jaime's horse making an awful racket. Jaime leapt to his feet and started speaking in soft, hushed tones to quiet the poor beast, wondering what had spooked it. Behind him, the boy was already up, and held a thin blade in his left hand. Jaime motioned to the boy to stay silent, and listened. 

Outside the the empty farmhouse they had camped in, he heard the snaps of several twigs. Inside, their fire had burned low. Jaime moved to the broken window and peered out into the field. In the darkness, he could just make out the shapes of three figures moving. 

"There are three men out there," Jaime whispered to the boy. 

"Are they armed?" the boy asked.

"I cannot see," Jaime replied. 

"Perhaps if we are quiet they will pass us by," the boy said, quietly.

Jaime peered out the window once more. The figures were moving towards the house, but slowly, and somewhat clumsily. Jaime shook his head, "I do not think they mean to pass us by. Perhaps they're simply weary travelers looking for somewhere to rest."

He wished he were as sure as he sounded. But at any rate, he'd prefer to know sooner than later whether he had need to worry. With one hand on the hilt of his sword, he stepped out the door.

"No, don't!" the boy hissed.

"Seven Blessings, travelers," Jaime called. 

The men did not answer, though they seemed to be walking faster now, and all towards Jaime. Jaime's eyes were adjusting to the darkness and what little the moonlight could illuminate, but he did not see any glint of steel. 

"What is your purpose here, lads?" Jaime tried to make his voice sound light, but he was firmly unsettled by the silence he received in reply. The boy stood in the doorway behind him, blade still drawn. 

"I wish you no harm," Jaime warned as the closest figure to him drew near, and Jaime slid Widow's Wail from its sheath. Suddenly, the figure lunged at Jaime. The hood of it's cloak fell back, revealing pale white skin, and ghostly blue eyes, but the hands that grabbed for Jaime were black as coal. 

Jaime stumbled backwards in shock, and the boy leapt from behind him, darting around the man, and jabbing him quickly with the thin blade before dancing out of reach again. The man, if it could indeed be called a man, did not seem to notice the wounds. Regaining his senses, Jaime raised his sword as the thing lunged at him again, and plunged it into its belly in what should have been a killing blow, but the thing continued to grab at Jaime's throat. Frantic, Jaime thrashed and kicked to get it off him, realizing that the two other figures were almost on them as well. 

When he finally managed to shove the creature off him, he raised his sword for a more damaging swing. The thing that had been a man wore no mail, only boiled leather, so Jaime's sword took an arm off with a single swing. It staggered backwards, losing his balance, and giving Jaime a moment to steady his own stance, but the two other figures were closing in, and Jaime had lost sight of the boy. 

Now that the figures drew closer Jaime could see they wore furs, and one carried a club made out of bone in one black hand. It raised the weapon and swung, the bone splintering on contact with Jaime's sword, but the thing holding it continued forward undeterred. From somewhere behind Jaime, the boy leapt forward, no longer carrying a sword, but instead armed with a thick branch, one end smoldering with the remains of their fire. He thrust it at the nearest creature, driving it backwards and shaking embers onto its furs while Jaime used Widow's Wail to cut one of its legs out from under it. As it tumbled to the ground, the boy jumped on top of it, driving the smoldering branch into its chest until the embers finally caught, and the furs the thing wore went up in flames. The boy rolled off the burning body, and stumbled back behind Jaime. 

"Stay behind me," Jaime shouted. The one-armed thing had regained its balance and lunged again, with the other fur-clad creature staggering beside it. Jaime hacked at its torso, flesh and entrails falling to the ground, but barely slowing the thing down. A strike from above shattered it's collarbone and lodged the sword briefly in it's chest cavity before Jaime was able to brace his foot on its chest to pull it free.

Behind him, the boy had not listened. Sword in hand, he darted out again, poking the second figure as he had the first, trying to draw its attention away from Jaime. Again, it paid no mind. Frustrated, the boy hollered "Hey! Over here!"

Both things rounded on the boy then. Jaime took another leg from the one closest and watched in horror as it hit the ground, and writhed, using its single remaining arm and leg to drive itself forwards toward the boy. Jaime sprang after it, hacking it to smaller pieces, until all that moved was a single hand that still opened and closed in a fist at his feet. 

Ahead of him, the boy was running, the last creature moving clumsily behind him in pursuit. It did not stop to notice Jaime, who swung from behind to lift its head clean from its shoulders. It stumbled for several more steps before tripping and falling to the ground, where Jaime offered it a few more swings. The boy stopped running and returned to find Jaime breathing heavily amidst the wreckage of still-moving limbs. 

_ What in Seven Hells,  _ Jaime thought as he watched the writhing limbs on the ground. The boy knelt down and picked up one of the arms. 

"What are you doing with that?" Jaime asked.

"Up North, beyond the Wall, the wildlings burn their dead," the boy said. "Now we know why."

The boy carried the arm to the burning body, and tossed it on the fire. After a few moments, the flesh caught flame, and ceased its writhing. Seeing this, Jaime started gathering up more errant limbs and tossing them into the flames. The fire crackled, consuming the discolored flesh. He picked up a severed right hand, blackened with congealed blood, its fingers still twitching, and considered it for a moment. 

"I had one of these once," he said to the boy, holding up the hand and smirking. "Hung it around my neck for a bit. It didn't move though." Jaime stared at the hand for a moment before tossing it into the fire alongside the rest. 

The boy looked at him quizzically. 

"Nevermind," Jaime said. "We need to leave." 

The boy protested, insistent that he didn’t need Jaime's help, but Jaime would hear none of it. He quickly gathered his belongings and saddled the horse before grabbing the boy and lifting him into the saddle. He climbed on behind him, and rode off into the darkness. 

The next night, they did not stop to camp.


	4. Chapter 4

Brienne's progress towards Winterfell was slower than she would have liked. The knights of the Vale were great in number, but it meant traveling more slowly, and taking much longer to make and break camp each day. At times she worried that by the time they finally reached Winterfell, they would be too late, but she knew she should be grateful they had agreed to come at all. 

After Sansa had unveiled the true depths of Littlefinger's treachery, the lords had bickered for hours about what was to be done. It was finally decided that the only way to know if Sansa spoke true was for Littlefinger to take a sip from the cup of wine and settle the matter once and for all.

Lord Yohn Royce had reasoned this to be perfectly fair; if the wine were simply wine, and the whole tale a lie, Lord Baelish had nothing to fear but perhaps some stains on his surcoat if he did not hold still. In truth, the Lords Declarant had already suspected him of treachery, just as Sansa had said, so it hadn’t taken much to urge them to act against him. 

Littlefinger had struggled valiantly, which only served to further incriminate him, but he was no match for Sandor Clegane. Sandor was happy to hold him steady as the wine passed his lips, letting him go only once he’d begun to choke. When at last his body sank to the floor, the Lords of the Vale had agreed to make for Winterfell. 

The women and children had been left behind with an adequate force to defend them if need be, both for their safety, and to allow the cavalry to more quickly make their way North. When they had reached the Kingsroad, they had come upon refugees fleeing King's Landing. It was as the septon had warned; the army of sellswords had fallen upon the city, sacking it. There had been no word of the king and queen.

The refugees told conflicting tales of what had occurred. Some said the invading army had set fire to the city and slaughtered the smallfolk in their beds. Others said the fires began before the army breached the walls, and had been started by the queen herself, defiant to the last. But there was no way of knowing which tale, if any, was true. As for the refugees, some were traveling towards Seagard or White Harbor, hoping to catch a ship to the Free Cities, or the far south. The Riverlands had been ravaged by the war, and there were no safe havens left to be found there. The army of sellswords had marched from the south, cutting off routes to the Reach on foot, so the only option left was north. Brienne recognized the look of defeat in their eyes as they trudged along the road with their few remaining possessions slung over their shoulders. 

Brienne found herself searching the faces of the refugees for familiar emerald eyes, but to no avail. It was a fool's hope, she knew. Jaime had returned to King's Landing to serve his King. Whether Tommen was even still the king now, Brienne could not be certain, though it seemed increasingly unlikely. Brienne wondered what Jaime would do then, where he would go, whether he would be safe. If he had been inside the city when it fell, there was no way of knowing if he was even still alive. 

Brienne had known when she’d bid Jaime farewell at the crossroads that it was likely for the last time, and yet, she couldn’t help but hope their paths would somehow cross again. She wanted him to know that she had found Sansa, and that she was bringing her home safe, fulfilling Jaime's promise and restoring his honor.  _ It hadn’t needed restoring, _ she thought,  _ but he would never listen to that. Would you be proud of me, Jaime? _

They were still a day's ride from Winterfell when they stopped again to make camp for the evening. Brienne emerged from her tent to see Sandor, Sansa, and Podrick sitting by a campfire sharing stew with several knights of the Vale. She was happy to see their camaraderie, and glad for Pod to have someone nearer his own age to talk to, but it left her feeling somewhat lonesome. Brienne took a bowl of stew for herself and sat off to the side of the fire alone. She tried not to get lost in thought, for if she wasn’t careful those thoughts always seemed to lead to Jaime. 

When she had lain injured on the Quiet Isle, Jaime's face had haunted her fever dreams. Jaime in captivity with the Bloody Mummers, being beaten and maimed, or in the baths at Harrenhal fainting in the steam. Jaime standing before a wolf, a stag, and a dragon, holding his magic sword aloft. Jaime facing off against an enormous shadow, like the one that had slain Renly. Brienne had stood behind him, calling out to him in fear that he would be killed, but it always seemed he couldn’t hear her. The memories had mixed with imaginings until Brienne could not be sure which was true and which was simply a dream.

Brienne was stirred from her thoughts by Hyle's approach. 

"The scouts have returned and there's something you need to see," he said.

She followed him to one of the larger tents where many of the Vale lords were already present. Two scouts stood at the head of the table with large sacks at their sides. It seemed to Brienne that the sacks were moving, as if some beast were caught in them, but they made no sound. 

"Let's see it then," Hyle said. 

One of the scouts lifted a sack onto the table and untied it, the contents spilling out. Hands, arms, and heads tumbled out of the sack and onto the table, writhing and grasping as they fell. Some of the lords leapt backwards in shock, and Brienne felt her stomach roil. The eyes in the faces were bright blue, and they did not blink, though their mouths still moved as if gasping for breath. The hands were black and several seemed to reach out towards her. She thought of the rotting hand that had hung around Jaime's neck, which only served to make her stomach turn again. 

"Our scouts encountered a dozen of these in the woods. They are clumsy, but they are strong, and are not troubled by arrows," the scout explained. "This was the only way we managed to rid ourselves of them, but even now you can see whatever spell possesses them remains unbroken."

"What sorcery is this?" one of the lords asked. 

The brother of the Night's Watch shook his head sadly. "This is the army of the dead. Fire is the only thing that stops them." 

Lord Royce picked up one of the heads and turned it in his hands, examining it. The head gnashed its teeth at his fingers every time they got too close. "And the other sack? More of the same?"

"Yes, milord," the scout answered. "We wanted to warn the other scouts what they would find."

Lord Royce nodded. "Divide them up. Have the pieces brought to King's Landing, and to any other lord who may not yet have heeded the message. This may well be the proof they need." 

The ghastly head in his hands seemed to snarl at the idea. Brienne shuddered. For the first time, Brienne wondered if perhaps Jaime were safer wherever he was. 


	5. Chapter 5

The air in Winterfell was humming with a tense, nervous energy that was not improved by Jaime's presence. The boy had disappeared again as soon as they had crossed the gates of Winterfell, and this time Jaime could not fault him. While the men of the various Northern houses, the Night's Watch, and Stannis' army all seemed to have varying degrees of dislike and mistrust for each other, they were all united in their dislike and mistrust of him. He could feel all of their eyes on him as he was lead into the Great Hall of Winterfell to stand before its Lord, and he knew what they were thinking.

_ Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Man without honor. _

He could see it in their eyes and he could read it on their faces, though he would never admit how much it bothered him. It was familiar, and almost comforting, because it was the same thing everyone thought of him. Everyone except Brienne. His eyes searched the faces lining the hall, hoping to land on a pair of striking blue ones, though he knew he searched in vain. If she had been there, he would have noticed as soon as he entered the hall. Seated in the front of the hall were Bran Stark, Stannis Baratheon, and Jon Snow, their faces cold and firm. It was Bran who spoke first.

"Why have you come to Winterfell, Kingslayer?"

Jaime scarcely recognized the boy he had flung from the window years ago; Bran Stark looked changed in a way that he could not quite explain, as though he bore the weight of many burdens beyond his years. Jaime felt a pang of guilt as he wondered how much of that was his doing. 

"Lord Stark," he began. "I swore an oath to your mother Lady Catelyn that I would see your sisters returned to Winterfell unharmed, and that I would never again take up arms against your house. I have come to protect Winterfell, and Lady Catelyn's children from the threat beyond the Wall."

Bran's eyes never left him as he spoke, though Jaime found it hard to meet them. There was something unsettling about the boy's gaze; it seemed to look through him, rather than at him, lingering for a moment before he spoke.

"You come to protect Catelyn Stark's children, yet you do not deliver either of my sisters safely home. It would seem we have no need of your oath."

"My companion is on her way with Lady Sansa, I swear to you," Jaime explained, praying to all Seven gods that what he said was true, "She too swore an oath to your mother. We were told of the army of dead men marching from beyond the Wall." 

Met with silence, Jaime drew his sword. "I have come to pledge my sword to defend Winterfell and its inhabitants. This steel was once wielded by Ned Stark, it is only right that it should defend his ancestral home. I wield it in his stead."

"Why should we trust your word?" Bran asked, still holding Jaime in his unsettling gaze. The men seated beside him glanced from Bran to Jaime, awaiting his answer.

Jaime began to feel the anger rise in his chest. No matter what he did, no matter how he tried, he would never be more than the Kingslayer. Bran Stark had not even been born when Jaime had slain Aerys, but he looked down on him in the same way his father had. Though that was not nearly as bad as Stannis, a kingslayer and kinslayer in his own right, looking down on him as well. At least Jaime’s true intentions had been honorable; Stannis’ had been selfish. 

"I ended the Siege of Riverrun without spilling a drop of Tully blood because of the oath I swore your mother" Jaime said, trying to will the anger out of his voice. "I have nothing to gain by coming here. I seek only to ensure the safety of your family and your home, and the safety of the realm at large.”

Bran leaned back in his seat without breaking his gaze, silent as he considered what Jaime had said. The silence was broken by a shout from the back of the hall. 

"My Lords, he speaks true!" The boy from the road marched to the front of the hall. "His oath is kept. The man before you did escort me safely home." 

At that, Jon Snow leapt from his seat. "Arya?"

Jaime turned and stared incredulously, but Arya Stark simply smiled, and ran to her brother's embrace while the hall erupted in chatter. A girl claiming to be Arya Stark had been in Winterfell when Jon Snow arrived, the same one that Jaime had seen leaving King’s Landing, but he knew at once she was not who she said just as Jaime had. It had been presumed, rather reasonably, Jaime felt, that the real Arya was dead. At Jon’s side, Stannis looked surprised, but Bran did not, in fact he looked almost amused. 

Unnoticed in the commotion at the front of the hall, the doors fell open and several figures stepped in from the cold; Jaime could not help but notice that two of them were unusually tall. It was one of the shorter members of the party, however, who stepped forward first, throwing back a grey hood and shaking snowflakes from her cloak.

"So it seems you have returned one sister safe after all," Bran said. 

“Forgive me my Lords, but Ser Jaime has kept his oaths, and his honor,” Sansa’s voice carried through the hall over the noise of the crowd as she stepped forward. "Both of Lady Catelyn's daughters are home."

It was more than Jaime could have dared hope for; both Stark daughters returned, his oaths fulfilled, and Brienne safe beside them. He felt completely overwhelmed.

"Lord Stark," Brienne drew her sword and knelt next to Sansa at the front of the hall. "It was Ser Jaime who gifted me this sword, and named it Oathkeeper. It was forged from the steel of Lord Eddard Stark's greatsword. I return it now to its home, and pledge it to protect the Stark family against the threat beyond the Wall."


	6. Chapter 6

It had been nearly impossible to regain order in the hall by the time Brienne had spoken. Sansa was tearfully embracing Arya while Jon mussed her short hair and the rest of the hall erupted in either joy, shock, or disbelief. As Brienne looked around, she realized that in all the commotion, Jaime had slipped from the hall. She had been so shocked to see him there at all she had not known how to react. She approached Sansa, hoping to take her leave and go find him. 

"Of course," Sansa replied. "Take all the time you need. I'm so grateful for all you've given me."

"Your mother would have been very proud of you," Brienne said, and she truly meant it.

Arya looked up at her curiously. "You must be the woman he spoke of."

"I beg your pardon?" Brienne was confused.

"Ser Jaime. When I met him on the road, he spoke of a tall woman with blonde hair, and beautiful blue eyes. He said he hoped to find her here," Arya explained. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

Brienne did not know how to respond, doubting that Jaime would have used her name and the word beautiful in the same sentence. Instead she simply bowed and took her leave, sparing one last glance at the reunited Starks before leaving the hall.

She found Jaime in the crypts beneath Winterfell, kneeling before a statue of Lord Eddard Stark. The statue was unfinished, a face and shoulders sitting above a vague and roughly hewn body, and the sword that should have lain across his lap was missing. Widow's Wail lay unsheathed at the foot of the statue, barely visible save for where the light of a few candles flickered against the dark steel. Jaime's eyes were closed, as if in prayer.

Without a word, Brienne unsheathed Oathkeeper and knelt beside him, laying her blade alongside his in the darkness. After a few minutes of silence, she gently placed her hand over his where it lay resting on his knee. 

"You kept your oath," she said, softly.

"No, wench," he replied "You did. You returned Sansa Stark safely to Winterfell. I'll never know quite how you managed it, but I'm proud of you."

Brienne was silent for a moment, trying to find the right words. "You said that Sansa Stark was your last chance for honor," she said. "And I swore an oath. I could not bear to let you down."

"You and your silly oaths," Jaime replied. It seemed to Brienne he may have smiled, but it was too dark to tell.

"How did you find Arya?" Brienne asked. No one had seen the real Arya in,  _ could it be years?  _ Brienne wondered. Sandor had been the last to see her living, and so much had happened since then.

"I didn't," Jaime said, "She found me."

A moment of silence passed between them, and Brienne looked up into the cold stone face of Ned Stark. "He had no right to judge you, you know." 

"That never seemed to stop him, or anyone else for that manner," Jaime muttered. 

"You did the best you possibly could have in that moment. You saved the entire population of King's Landing from a horrible fate. Just because you couldn't save everyone doesn't mean that you made the wrong choice." Brienne insisted.

"You saw the way they looked at me. I will never be more than the Kingslayer in their eyes," Jaime said, sadly. 

"You have kept your oaths and your honor, ser," Brienne replied. "If they cannot see that, then truly they are blind."

Jaime looked as though he wanted to deflect her kind words, or argue with her the truth in them, but he didn't. He turned his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers as he spoke. "Thank you, Brienne. You always manage to see the best in me, and for that you have my gratitude."

It was perhaps the first time Jaime had let Brienne say something kind without protesting. She wanted to throw her arms around him and embrace him, to offer to fight anyone who still spoke ill of him after all the good that he had done. She wanted to hold him close and keep him safe, but instead she settled for the warmth of his palm against hers in the dark.

For just a moment, she allowed herself to wonder about what Arya had said.  _ A tall woman with blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes. No, Arya must have misunderstood, or misremembered.  _ Brienne knew what she looked like, especially now with her scarred face.  _ Brienne the Beauty _ , she thought bitterly. No, this was as much as she had any right to hope for, and as Jaime’s thumb absentmindedly brushed against hers, Brienne decided it was enough. 


	7. Chapter 7

Silence fell over the battlements as the armies of Winterfell struggled to watch for movement in the dark. They had felled all the trees within a good distance of the walls so the army of the dead would be afforded no cover, but once night had fallen, it did not make much difference. The dark of the the walls faded into the dark of the snow covered ground, speckled here and there with oil-soaked pyres waiting for flaming arrows to ignite them to light the battlefield. The dark of the field, in turn, faded into the dark of the forest somewhere far in the distance.

A torch burned on the battlements, throwing a small circle of light around Jaime's feet. Brienne stood at his side, staring silently into the darkness. There they stood, in their little island of light, but all around them stretched a sea of darkness, unending. 

"This reminds me of a dream I had once," Jaime said, suddenly.

He absently pulled his sword a few inches from its sheath, unsure why until he felt a strange sense of disappointment when he found it did not glow. 

"You were in the dream," Jaime continued. 

Brienne's eyes in the torch light were as striking as they were in sunlight, and betrayed no fear behind them. As the orange glow danced across her freckled cheeks, Jaime couldn't help but think that she looked quite beautiful. 

"You were naked," Jaime went on. "You know, in the dream."

"Jaime!" Brienne hissed, glancing around her to see if anyone had heard. "This really isn't the time for japing."

Jaime could just barely make out the fact that she was blushing, though she would not meet his eyes. "You know, you never told me about your dream."

Brienne didn't answer.

"Was I naked?" Jaime needled. He expected another exasperated sigh, and more blushing, but Brienne looked straight ahead into the darkness. 

"You stood before a great shadow," she said softly. "I called out to you, to get you to come away, but you could not hear me. I tried to come between you and the shadow, I tried to protect you, but something pulled me back."

Suddenly, Jaime noticed, there was fear behind her eyes. She was afraid, but not for herself.  _ She's afraid for me _ , he realized.

"I'm not worried," Jaime said, trying to maintain his well-worn demeanor of arrogance. "You've sworn an oath to protect me. And we both know how you get about your oaths."

Before Brienne could answer, a horn sounded from one of the watchers who spotted movement in the trees. Men rushed behind where Jaime and Brienne stood, filling all the vacant space along the battlements with archers, spearmen, and swordsmen. At the walls were torches for the archers to light their arrows before firing; they'd been warned that arrows alone would do nothing to slow the wights. Near the torches were small caches of arrows tipped with dragonglass to be used against the Others, though Jaime feared they had far too few.

In the distance, the treeline seemed to be moving forward. Someone was shouting for the archers to ready their arrows. Jaime hoped their battle plan was sound.  _ As sound as a battle plan can be against an army of dead men and ice monsters. _

At least the armies that had been at Winterfell for weeks before Jaime had arrived had had time to prepare. Around the castle they'd dug trenches and filled them with pikes; it wouldn't kill any wights, but it would contain some of them at least. More pikes were set around the walls, and Jaime wondered whether the wights were dumb enough to simply impale themselves. There were also the pyres to light the field and set alight any wights that stumbled too close. They had the mounted knights of the Vale as well, to send out to flank the wights and funnel them into the flames. A precious few siege weapons were sheltered behind the walls, trebuchets and catapults ready to hurl flaming bundles of stone wrapped in oil soaked cloth onto the field. In every courtyard and every gate stood every remaining man on foot, swords and dragonglass knives in hand, waiting to see where the walls might fail, or the gates might be breached. 

Jaime had been slightly disappointed that Stannis' fire priestess had not been more helpful. He had almost said as much to Brienne, but he thought better of it. He knew it was a significant effort by Brienne to put aside her hatred of Stannis for the sake of keeping Winterfell safe. She had glared daggers at the Red Woman every time their paths crossed. There had been several meetings to review battle plans, and Stannis had insisted on dragging her to each and every one so that she could go on at length about the Great Other coming to wage the War for the Dawn. Several of the other lords were clearly uneasy about her religious zealotry; she insisted that only the holy flames of R'hllor could drive back the cold and darkness of the Great Other and his cold children. Jaime much preferred to listen to the more practical advice of Jon Snow and the brothers of the Night's Watch when they described their encounters with the wights and the Others. Jaime had only ever seen a wight in person, and that had been unnerving enough. He wanted to hear about Others from the men who had fought them and survived.

He wondered where Stannis and his priestess were now.  _ Probably off declaring that the night is dark and full of terrors, _ Jaime thought to himself. He had been his usual arrogant self at the war meetings, which had not been particularly well received. When the red priestess had spoken of holy fire, Jaime had gestured to Jon Snow and his Night's Watch brothers. 

"These men say they have slain Others with dragonglass. There may be more ways of defeating them than your religion says." 

"I urge caution," the Red Woman had replied, "Many men like you have tried to drive back the darkness, and many men like you have failed. The night is dark, and full of terrors, and cares little for your arrogance."

On the battlements, Jaime would have been grateful for a little more light. Waiting in the darkness for something to happen was agonizing. As if he had spoken his thoughts or wishes aloud, someone shouted "Loose!"

The archers fired, and a volley of flaming arrows rained down onto the battlefield, lighting the pyres in the field so that all could see the horrors marching towards them. Dead men by the thousands, but worse than that as well; there were giants among them, and strange creatures that looked like enormous spiders, their bodies and legs formed of ice. Among their lines rode the Others, some on horseback, some on foot, even some that seemed to sit atop the ice spiders, and behind them was some beast cloaked in shadow too large to make out at the edge of the darkness. 

The wights were quick to advance, charging down the field without care for those who stumbled, trampling their own to advance on the walls. They tumbled forward into the trenches impaling themselves on the pikes below until the trenches were full and the wights behind them continued onwards over the mound of fallen bodies of their comrades. While their ranks were momentarily thinned, the cavalry was sent out from the gate, harrying the wights with sword and spear, shoving them into the flaming pyres to burn. They rode down the pale monsters where they could, cleaving head from shoulder and crushing their bodies beneath the hooves of their destriers. Some riders were overtaken, pulled from the saddle by the wights even as they rode them down, and when the bodies grew too thick to move through, the riders retreated back behind the gate and sent word for the siege weapons to fire. 

Jaime watched from the battlements as wights piled against the pikes at the base of the wall. They were held back for the moment, but from behind them came several Others on the backs of ice spiders. The long shimmering legs of the spiders scaled the piles of writhing wights with ease, and moved quickly towards the walls. Brienne shoved him backwards as the spiders began to scale the walls; she knew he was not carrying dragonglass like she was, because he had no free hand to grab it with. Jaime watched helplessly as several men on the battlements were cut down, their steel swords shattering as they tried to stand against the Other's blade, until someone managed to catch it with a dragonglass dagger.

As a spider came over the top in front of Brienne, she slashed at its legs with her sword, the wounds hissing as if they'd been burns. The blows cost the spider its grip on the wall and sent it tumbling back to the ground, but another followed behind too quickly, its rider's sword already raised. Jaime leapt forward and raised his own blade to catch the blow before it could touch Brienne. 

"Jaime, no!"

But Jaime's sword did not shatter. He turned the blow, and slipped away, giving himself room to move. The Other was on him quickly, though his strange armor blended into the darkness and made him difficult to see, and Jaime blocked two more blows. He ducked a third, and used the opening to catch his enemy's thigh with his blade. As though his sword had been aflame, the Other melted before him. Realizing that their Valyrian steel blades could match the pale blades carried by the Others, Brienne was driving one back against the battlements. Their blades locked, and she shifted her weight to drive the edge of hers just below its shoulder, melting it away as well. 

Jaime's eyes locked on Brienne's for a moment. They had an advantage here that few others had. Truly these blades had been meant for this battle, they had been destined to return home to defend these walls. In the crypts of Winterfell, Jaime had laid his sword before Ned Stark's bones, and on the battlefield, it felt almost as the former Lord of Winterfell had indeed bestowed his blessing. Jaime returned to Brienne's side, and stood shoulder to shoulder with her to await the next enemy.

A volley of flames flew from behind their heads, the trebuchets and catapults being put to work. The flaming stones crashed onto the field, setting wights ablaze and breaking up their ranks. Handfuls of wights were scaling the piles of bodies impaled in front of the nearest row of pikes, tumbling down the other side to make their way towards the walls. Further afield, some of the wights who had been caught by the flames of the siege weapons tumbled into trenches amongst the bodies, lighting the lot of them in a ghastly blaze. Above them all, a shadow moved.

A great beast was gliding swiftly over the field towards the battlements, and it collided with the top of the wall with a crash. Its great feet grasped at the stones, tearing them from the wall and flinging them down even upon its own troops, crushing them. Wights swarmed at the bottom of the wall as the beast went on widening the breach, throwing stones into the courtyard where men were rushing to aim the siege weapons to fire on it. From further down the battlements, Jaime looked on in horror. The beast itself was pale as dead flesh, without fur or feather, just a thick leathery hide. 

"It will destroy the wall and the trebuchets!" Brienne cried. "Come, we must drive it back!"

Before Jaime could stop her, Brienne was charging down the battlements towards the beast. She slashed at its outstretched neck, forcing it back from the courtyard, though it seemed her sword struggled to pierce the thick hide of the creature. Her determination seemed to startle the beast nonetheless, and when it began to back away she leapt after it, landing almost gracefully in the snow. Jaime followed her more slowly, picking his way carefully down the broken stone battlements. _Stupid, stubborn wench!_ _What is she doing, she'll be killed!_

Brienne had grabbed a torch in one hand, and swung Oathkeeper wildly in the other to drive the beast away from the walls and back onto the battlefield. The wights paid her no mind, clambering over each other to get at the breach in the wall; Jaime could hear men shouting in the courtyard, rushing to stop the wights. Behind him, soldiers were climbing through the rubble, struggling to keep the wights from coming over the wall. Several men fell in the onslaught, and Jaime watched in horror as their eyes reopened in that ghastly shade of blue and the men rose, turning on their companions. He cut the legs out from under the nearest one, and turned to follow Brienne.

She was still ahead of him, deftly dancing away from the beast's enormous snapping jaws. It beat its wings angrily at her, but she stood fast. Jaime had nearly reached her when he saw that the beast was not moving of its own accord, it had a rider. Atop the beast sat an Other, he seemed taller than the rest, and he was cloaked in shadow. His armor shimmered with reflections of the snow and the burning pyres in the field, but the swirling darkness around him seemed to swallow up all light. He carried a two handed greatsword, but it didn’t seem to be made of steel; it was pale as milk and smooth as glass. The way the shadows engulfed him, he seemed at times to fade entirely into the darkness; Jaime wasn’t surprised that Brienne didn’t seem to notice him. The air around them seemed even colder than it had just moments ago. 

The beast lunged forward at Brienne again, and caught her arm as she spun away from its teeth. She cried out in pain, but she gripped Oathkeeper in both hands as the mighty head dove past her, catching only snow. With another cry, she plunged the sword into the creature's eye. There was a great shriek of pain as the huge shape crashed to ruin, vast wings outspread, crumpled on the earth, and as it thrashed, it threw its shadowy rider, and flung Brienne several feet away into the snow. 

Brienne's head struck a helm that had fallen from one of the soldiers and been discarded in the snow and she lay still, dazed. Out of the wreck of the fallen beast rose the shadow, tall and threatening, towering above her.

"Brienne, get up!" Jaime cried. The shadow turned and looked at him with the same icy blue eyes of the Others. The darkness swirled and drew back slightly, revealing to Jaime the pale face that held the glittering eyes, a crown of ice sitting atop its head. 

There was a high pitched cry of hatred that stung Jaime's ears as the Great Other fell on him, the weight of its greatsword driving Jaime back into the snow. Jaime managed to turn the blow, the pale blade hitting the ground beside him harmlessly. He took a step forward towards the shadowy king, looking for an opening, but found none. Instead, Jaime blocked another blow which forced him backward again, followed by another that glanced off his golden hand where he had not been able to get his sword up in time. The pale greatsword moved as though it were weightless, but struck as though it were stone. Even at his best, Jaime would have been hard pressed to defeat his foe, and Jaime was well aware that he was no longer at his best; his left arm beginning to ache under the weight of his sword. 

He could hear the men around him on the field struggling to beat back the seemingly endless tide of wights, crying out as they fell to the tireless foe. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the red priestess' words echoed, “ _ Many men like you have tried to drive back the darkness, and many men like you have failed.” _

"There are no men like me," Jaime said, to himself more than to the figure before him. "There’s only me."

The Other lunged at Jaime, eyes glittering and sword held aloft, but instead of striking the killing blow, it stumbled forward with a cry of bitter pain. As the blow swung wide, Jaime saw the opening, and plunged his sword into the Other's shimmering chestplate. The sword sank in to the hilt, and there was a terrifying crack, like the surface of a frozen lake splintering. There was a flash of light, and when Jaime looked down, he saw flames burst from the wound in the Great Other’s chest. The dark shadow began to fade, and the Other that had stood amidst it was melting away into the darkness. He found himself once again staring into two blue eyes, but not the unnatural blue of the Others, a peaceful blue, like a calm sea. Brienne stood behind the melting body, both hands still on Oathkeeper where she had buried it in the shadowy figure's back. 

It had been Brienne that caused the Other to stumble, Jaime realized, striking him from behind.  _ Many had tried to drive back the darkness, and many had failed,  _ Jaime thought,  _ because none of them had Brienne of Tarth’s sworn vow to protect them.  _

The body and armor of the Other had melted, and the shadow faded away, but a fire still burned between them, and when Jaime looked down, he saw their swords were alight with bright flames running up the blade, stopping just above the hilt. Brienne's eyes were wide with awe as she turned Oathkeeper in her hands, admiring its glow. So taken that she was almost caught off guard by several wights coming towards them. But when she raised the flaming sword at the last moment, it cut them down as if they were straw, and they moved no more. 

At that, Brienne laughed. Jaime was fairly certain it was the most beautiful sound his ears had ever heard. Standing in the middle of the battlefield, bruised and bloodied, amidst the burning bodies of the wights, Brienne laughed. It was as if the flames of Brienne's sword spread inward, making her laugh with such joy that Jaime couldn't help but smile. Brienne's eyes glittered as she raised the sword, gazing upon it almost lovingly before turning to look at Jaime, grinning. She was radiant, and in that moment Jaime realized this was the first time he had truly seen her smile. Standing before him, her face glowing in the light of her flaming sword, she looked as though she had stepped out of a song.  _ In this light,  _ Jaime thought,  _ she could be the truest knight I've ever seen. _

Jaime dropped his sword. 


	8. Chapter 8

Brienne couldn't sleep. Her thoughts were racing, and her head was throbbing where it had struck the helm in the snow. 

When Brienne had sat up in the snow, for a moment she had thought she was dreaming. She was bitterly cold, and it was so dark. Men were shouting all around her, and she could just make out their shadows against the pyres as they struggled against the wights making for the walls. Somewhere nearby, she heard the familiar metal ring of steel mixed with a high pitched whine that was unfamiliar. When she turned to look for the source of the sound, her breath caught in her chest. Several steps from where she lay, Jaime stood, sword raised, before a great shadow holding a pale greatsword. The darkness had swirled and shifted, and Brienne could make out the figure of an Other standing in the shadow, as pale as the snow, and crowned in ice. It had looked like something out of a nightmare - her nightmare - and it had taken a step towards Jaime. 

_ No, he cannot stand alone. My sword, _ Brienne thought,  _ where is my sword? Where is Oathkeeper?  _

Her hand had groped through the snow at her side until it closed on the sword's hilt, and she looked back at Jaime as he turned a blow from the shadowy king. The face of their enemy was not turned towards her, but still she had hardly dared to move. Slowly she had begun to crawl towards him, but so intent on Jaime, the shadow heeded her no more than a worm in the mud. The blows from the pale greatsword had started to fall faster, as though the one who wielded it did not tire, though Brienne could see that Jaime was.

She had not dared to stand until she was directly behind their foe. Both hands gripping Oathkeeper, she had not faltered; she'd plunged the sword deep into the shadow's back. The cold king in the swirling shadows had staggered forward and cried out in pain. There had been a deafening crack, like thunder, and a flash, like a bolt of lightning, and then simply flames as the Other and his shadow melted away. 

Brienne had watched the flames dance in Jaime's emerald eyes for a moment before she realized where they were coming from. Oathkeeper had burned brightly in her hand, as if to reclaim the warmth and fire the cold god had stolen from the world now that he lay defeated. She had wondered if the Starks had spoken spells into this steel long ago when Ice had first been forged, when the nightmares they were fighting had not been things of legend or myth. She had been so caught up in wondering that she did not notice the wights until they were almost on her. She swung the blade around quickly, slicing through the torsos of two wights and setting them ablaze. The bodies had fallen to the ground and were still, and Brienne stared down at them incredulously for a moment. The ease with which the wights had fallen before her flaming sword made her feel hopeful, like a warmth was spreading from her chest, and she erupted with laughter. 

Catching her breath, she had lifted the sword again to admire it, the sword that Jaime had given her, that she had sworn to use to protect the Stark girls, and restore Jaime's honor. She had turned to look at Jaime, and saw that his sword too was burning in his hand, and it seemed to her that something in his face changed. Suddenly, his sword had fallen from his hand and for a moment, Brienne feared him hurt, but instead he had swiftly closed the distance between them and raised his good hand to her marred cheek. 

For just a moment, a question had seemed to hang in the air between them as Jaime's gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips. Brienne's heart raced as Jaime leaned up, pressing his lips to hers, and she realized she had been dreaming after all when she sat up in the snow. Shadow kings, flaming swords, Jaime's lips against hers, none of it could possibly be real, so there was no other explanation. But as she'd cautiously leaned into him, melting into the kiss, she found he was warm, and solid, and real, and better than any dream. When Jaime broke the kiss he had lingered for a moment, his forehead pressed against hers and his thumb still stroking her cheek. 

"Jaime…" she'd whispered.

And he'd grinned. Not his usual smirk, no, a genuine grin that reached all the way to light up his eyes. "Come on, my sweetling," he'd said warmly, plucking his fiery sword from the snow. "The music's still playing." 

And with that, Jaime had launched himself back into the fray, cutting down any wight that dared to stand before him. All around him were the men who had been scattered fighting outside the wall, and they looked on in awe as he cut through wights with his flaming blade. He had cleared a huge swath of the battlefield, leaving burning bodies in his wake, and then turned and rallied the men into formation to defend the breach in the wall. Brienne had fallen in beside him, having somehow forgotten how to feel cold, or tired, or afraid.

Hours later, that warm feeling had still not left her as she lay awake in bed, trying not to think about what was causing it. After he’d kissed her, Jaime had looked like something out of a legend, charging to the front lines, his blade a bright light in the darkness. He was a natural leader, Brienne realized, and it wasn’t just because of a magic sword. He had somehow managed to rally dozens of frightened men from different armies behind him to prevent the wights from crashing through the wall where the giant creature had begun tearing stones away. He had helped give them courage and hope in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. And they had succeeded. 

Jaime had found the point in the pike wall where the weight of the impaled wights had collapsed it, allowing them to push through towards the walls. At his direction, the men had cut the legs out from under the impaled wights and pulled their bodies away from the pikes, piling them in front of the breach. After making sure every man had retreated back behind the pike wall, Jaime had used the flames of Widow's Wail to set fire to the pile of bodies before retreating himself, and helping the men lift the fallen pikes back into position. Brienne had stood behind him, fending off wights who had been trapped on their side of the pikes, protecting the men while they repaired the breach. A cheer had gone up as the final pike had been lashed into place, the field secured once more.

They had continued to clear the space between the walls and the pikes, Jaime consistently at her side, moving with her, protecting her as they pulled back towards the walls. Once again, Jaime had made sure that everyone else had retreated before allowing himself to climb back over the walls into the courtyard, and Brienne wondered how he could possibly believe he had no honor. 

From her bed, Brienne could see the midday sun through a crack in the shutters, and outside she could hear men and women working. Those who had not been on the front lines of the battle had risen early, and were busy in the yard repairing defenses and clearing away bodies to be burned, though now that was more a matter of practicality than of necessity. After the Great Other had been slain, the horde of wights had remained undeterred, but after a time they realized that the men who had fallen in battle did not join their ranks; they remained still and frozen in the snow. Slaying their leader had not stopped their army, but it seemed to have at least stopped it from growing. 

Brienne had fought until the first light of day crept over the trees, and the wights and the Others began to retreat, staggering back into the forest. When the sun rose over the horizon and bathed the battlefield in light, the wights who remained dismembered and writhing in the snow at last lay still. It was then that Jaime had leaned against her, finally feeling the exhaustion of the hours of fighting. Brienne had put her arm around him, to steady him, she told herself, and together they had made their way back towards the keep. 

In the courtyard they had passed several weary groups of soldiers, some of whom had been fighting alongside them outside the walls. A few had nodded at Brienne and Jaime as they passed, while others simply stared. 

“Kingslayer!” one of the men had shouted. Brienne had felt Jaime stiffen beside her, and then she felt anger boiling in her chest.  _ How dare they,  _ she had thought furiously. 

“Aye! The Kingslayer!” a second man had echoed. Brienne’s hand had already curled into a fist, yet the man had continued. “He slayed the King of the Others with a blade of holy fire! I saw with my own eyes.” 

Brienne had frozen. Around them, more shouts had gone up from men who had been out in the field, and had seen the Great Other melt away in the flames of their swords. 

“I saw it too!”

“It’s true! His sword was blessed by R’hllor!”

“The Kingslayer and his Lady defeated the King of Darkness!”

“She slew the great beast!”

The men had begun shouting over each other, and when Brienne had turned to look at Jaime she saw his mouth hung open in shock. She’d been so angry on his behalf that they’d dared to call him Kingslayer, but as the men had gathered around him to offer proud handshakes and hearty claps on the back, she’d realized it wasn’t meant as an insult. She wasn’t sure if the Others truly had a King, and even if they did she knew they hadn’t ended the war by killing him, but Jaime had earned the respect of men who had looked down on and even despised him, and that was no small thing. 

When they had finally made it through the crowd of newfound admirers and back to the keep, Jaime had collapsed on a chair in front of the few embers that remained of the fire in Brienne's room. He had fussed one-handed with the straps of his armor as Brienne tossed several logs on the dying fire. Seeing him struggling, Brienne had come over to help, trying not to notice the way her chest tightened every time her fingers brushed against his. After she’d removed the last of his armor, she’d glanced at his golden hand. 

“May I?” she’d asked, gesturing at it.

Jaime had hesitated. “You needn’t worry about it. I’ve grown used to it, it’s rather unsightly otherwise.”

“I think I’ve seen worse,” she’d replied. 

After pausing again, Jaime had nodded quietly, and with his good hand reached over his shoulder and tugged his tunic over his head so she could get to the leather straps that fastened his golden hand to his arm. Brienne had made a point to stare at the straps rather than at his bare chest, though she was fairly certain she was blushing anyway, and her fingers felt more clumsy than usual. 

When she’d pulled the hand away, Brienne had realized that it had likely been weeks since Jaime had removed it; the skin underneath was red and inflamed. She’d known it must have hurt - though Jaime never let on - so she had wrapped it in a cool damp rag, hoping to ease his discomfort a bit.

Satisfied that Jaime was more comfortable, she’d faced away from him to remove her own armor, suddenly feeling incredibly shy. When she’d finished, though, she realized she need not have worried; Jaime hadn’t been watching her. Instead, too exhausted to go any further, he had collapsed onto the bed -  _ her  _ bed - where he lay sleeping soundly. The firelight had cast a warm glow on his golden curls and the deep purple bruises blossoming across his torso, and for the moment his face had looked almost peaceful and Brienne knew she could not wake him. 

And so Brienne had laid next to him, scarcely daring to breathe, until she too could no longer fight the weariness and drifted off as well. 


	9. Chapter 9

Jaime had done his best to remain focused when he was brought before the lords to discuss battle plans for the evening. He’d patiently retold the events of the previous night and answered all the questions that had been put to him as well as he could. He’d drawn Widow’s Wail, the blade coming alight again as it was pulled from its sheath. Beside him, Brienne had done the same with Oathkeeper, and Jaime had noticed the red priestess watching them curiously, her eyes darting between their faces and their flaming swords. 

She wasn’t the only who who had given them curious looks. As they’d made their way to the war council, Jaime had felt even more eyes on them than when he’d first arrived; it was clear that word had spread of their feats. Several times, he’d caught whispers of “Kingslayer”, though it seemed to Jaime the tone had been one of admiration, rather than one of derision. Even the lords at the war council who had been quick to look down on him had spared him their scorn, though perhaps they were simply too preoccupied to care.

They had known the dead army would return at nightfall, their numbers still far outweighing the living despite his and Brienne’s heroic feat, and their tireless onslaught would be hard on the men who were already weary from battle. But they also knew the dead could no longer grow their army. Whatever magic had allowed the Others to raise dead men as their servants had died with their shadowy king, and left the army of the living allowing themselves the slightest hope for victory. 

As the lords had discussed where the hasty repairs to the battlements and the pike walls had left them weakened, Jaime’s thoughts had begun to wander. Brienne had been standing beside him, pointing out where she and Jaime would be fighting outside the walls at nightfall to defend weaker points where repairs were not yet complete. Jaime, on the other hand, had been thinking about all the things he would rather discuss with her. 

Falling asleep in Brienne’s room had been an accident, but waking up next to her had felt natural. He’d long felt comfortable around her, after everything they’d been through, but this was different and he knew it. Brienne was a highborn lady and he’d never want to do anything that would put her honor in question, but if he was being honest with himself, he knew he already had. He was a member of the Kingsguard besides, if there was still a Kingsguard, and that just made things more complicated, but for once Jaime knew what he wanted, even if he also knew it was selfish. He just needed to know that Brienne wanted it too. 

They’d had no real opportunity to talk after the events of the previous night, their brief respite broken when Podrick had woken them in the late afternoon, arriving at Brienne’s door to summon her to the war council. The boy’s eyes had gone wide when he’d spotted Jaime, and Jaime had glared back with a look that he hoped conveyed the consequences should Podrick speak of it to anyone. His own honor may have long since been tarnished, but he’d have words with anyone who dared impugn Brienne’s. 

And now they were back on the battlefield, watching the wights pour out of the forest once more, and waiting for them to reach the pike wall. At least Jaime had been permitted to remain by her side. Stannis had wanted to separate them, feeling that their swords would be put to better use if they were to spread out and cover a wider stretch of the field, but Jaime had been quick to refuse. The only reason Jaime had survived was because Brienne had caused the fatal blow to swing wide, and he had said as much to Stannis, who had yielded.

Ahead of them, the wights began to crash against the pikes, impaling themselves and reaching their blackened hands, grasping helplessly at the soldiers who were methodically cutting them down and shoving them back to writhe in the snow. That had been Jaime’s suggestion; they wanted to keep the weight of the bodies off the pikes as much as possible in the hopes that the fortifications would hold. 

The plan had been sound, but beyond the pike wall was chaos; the pyres had been lit once more, and from the battlements archers were firing volleys of flaming arrows at the wights in the hopes of breaking up their ranks. They had managed to set quite a few alight, but several had reached the pike wall despite the flames, and the fire had spread first to the impaled bodies, and then to the wooden pikes beneath. Weakened by the weight and the flames, several portions of the pike wall had crashed to the ground creating an opening.

A wave of wights fell on them, then, and Brienne stepped closer to him, pressing her back against his. They moved as one, guarding each other and slashing wildly at black hands and pale faces as the wights poured through the breach. They built a gruesome pyre before them, every wight their swords touched burning as they collapsed into the snow, and those trying to push in behind them over the fallen pikes often stumbled and were set alight as well. 

Still, they kept coming; no matter how many wights they felled, it seemed there were more to take their place, but Jaime found he was not overly troubled. He and Brienne had fallen into a familiar rhythm, fighting together almost as if it were a dance. Several times ice spiders had launched themselves over the pike wall, Others perched menacingly atop them, but none could stand before Oathkeeper or Widow’s Wail. 

For hours, the dance had continued, but as long as Jaime felt the reassuring presence of Brienne next to him, he found himself able to hold the weariness at bay. Brienne never seemed to tire or lose focus, keeping an eye out for breaches in the pike wall and directing men to defend them, and stubbornly rushing towards every ice spider that dared to venture past the pikes. 

Finally, though wights were still stumbling out of the woods, their numbers appeared to dwindle, and the Others, it seemed, had fallen back. On the distant horizon, Jaime could just make out the pinkish glow of the rising sun. He turned to Brienne. 

"Shall we then, my lady?"

Brienne smiled at him, her eyes alive with the flames of her sword, and together they charged towards the dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge shout-out to my Secret Santa giftee Bidonica for inspiring this fic; you gave me some really great ideas to run with and I hope I did them justice.
> 
> Gigantic thank you to my beta elizadunc for her editing skills, her wonderful suggestions, and her extreme patience in both listening to me word vomit ideas at her and reading multiple drafts of this fic.
> 
> This fic was an attempted continuation of book canon, and I tried to remain as faithful as possible to where various people and things were (even when it was VERY INCONVENIENT, WIDOW'S WAIL) and what rules we know about how magical things work (eg. wights) but I'm sure I still managed to mess something up, so please forgive me. 
> 
> You'll find several quotes that were lovingly lifted from scenes GRRM himself wrote; I take no credit for them.
> 
> Fans of Lord of the Rings will likely also notice an homage in one of the later chapters; this was also lovingly done and I take no credit for the quotes used there either. (But I will totally fist-bump you in the comments if you find them!)


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